Just Large Enough For Two
by justadram
Summary: You're always dreaming, Alice... Alice awakes to find a figure sitting upon her bed. Setting: Alice's London bedchamber; Alice/Tarrant; expanded to two parts
1. Chapter 1

Rating: M (for sexual content), unedited M+ version available on LJ (accessible from profile page)  
Pairing: Alice/Tarrant  
Written for the aiw_porn_battle on LJ  
Prompt: "your hair wants cutting"

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Part One:

Alice awoke in the dark of her bedchamber when the bed sagged, as if her mother had come to check on her in the middle of the night. It had been many years since her mother had wandered into her bedchamber at night, but perhaps the dreams that sometimes troubled her, causing her to toss and shout, had awakened the household. Ever since she had returned from Asia her sleep had been uneven, fevered, and elusive.

She turned her head towards the motion that had roused her, expecting to see the outline of her mother's figure gazing down at her. The blackness of an unmistakable top hat assured her that this was not her mother.

Blinking her eyes, she raised herself up on her elbows. "Am I dreaming?" she asked the figure.

"Well, in order to be dreaming, one must be asleep. Are you asleep?"

"I'm not sure," Alice said, glancing towards the window—shut tight. How had her visitor arrived? Had he waltzed through the front door?

"Best try to remember if you _went_ to sleep. If you knew you set about _going_ there, it would be a useful clue as to whether you ever _got_ there."

That did make some sense, she had to admit. She pondered in silence for a moment.

"Did you say your prayers: God bless this house from thatch to floor?" the man pressed on.

She _could_ remember kneeling on the floor, her knees cold through the flimsy white cotton of her dressing gown.

"Never mind. This is silliness: you're always dreaming, Alice. Dreaming me, dreaming Underland, dreaming everything."

"Hatter?" she asked, sitting upright in the bed.

"Alice?" he asked right back.

"Well, yes of course, I'm Alice. _You_ have visited _me_."

"Why, yes, I have!" he exclaimed, sounding pleased with himself at the revelation. "And we've established who You are long ago."

Alice's eyes were beginning to adjust and she could now make out his features: he was smiling most cheerfully. "How?" she asked in bewilderment, as she pulled her dressing gown closed more tightly about her neck, a reflex to cover herself that was at war with the desire to throw her arms about his neck and tell him how desperately she had missed him.

"The usual ways." He dug in his left pocket. "It is enchanted," he said, pulling something from the depths of his pocket and offering it to her. "Here," he urged, when she seemed to pause.

It was a thimble. She released her dressing gown and took the thimble from him. Lifting it up to the slanting moonlight, she turned it between her fingers. "How does it work?"

"Put it on and wish yourself where you want to be," he said. "Couldn't be simpler."

She looked down on the deceptively simple, silver thimble standing upright in her palm. "And you came here."

"Where else?" He patted his other pocket. "I have one as well. You keep yours," he said seriously, moving to curl her fingers closed around the thimble.

"You came here," Alice echoed, still trying to fathom what was happening at this juncture in her bedchamber.

He ran his thumb over their linked hands before releasing her. "To be more exact, I came to _you_. As to Here, I don't know where Here is."

Alice reached for her bedside table, pulling open the drawer and depositing the thimble inside. "It will be safe here," she assured him, in case he thought she was disposing of it. Turning back to Hatter, she continued, "Here is London. Not just the drawer, here." She gestured about the room, trying to clarify, "Here and beyond."

"Ah," he said with a tilt of the head.

She was afraid she was not being terribly clear.

"May I stay?" he asked softly. "Here with you?"

Her mother and the servants were just beyond the door, asleep and unaware of her night visitor. She nodded her approval.

Hatter removed his hat and set it carefully atop her bedside table. It seemed a terribly intimate place for his hat to rest. He proceeded to unlace his shoes and toe them off. The sound of them softly thudding to the ground seemed intimate too. The only shoes she had ever heard hit the floor of her bedchamber were her own and a top hat had never graced any of its surfaces.

"I would show you around, but we would wake someone," she mumbled, trying to nervously fill the emptiness that rang with the sound of shoes and hats.

"I'm where I want to be."

Alice shivered, having come half free of the sheets. "Are you chilled?" she asked, looking at the fire that had burned out during the late evening hours.

"I have a good deal more clothes on that you do, Alice," he observed.

And suddenly she was not quite as cold: heat flooded her cheeks.

"Not that I mind," he hurriedly promised her.

An assurance that did not mollify her discomfiture in the least.

"Although, I must inform you," he said, leaning towards her until he was just at her ear, a whisper away, "your hair wants cutting."

Alice could feel his fingers twining in her hair, which no doubt looked a bit mussed and perhaps even in need of a trim. _Nevertheless!_ "You should learn not to make personal remarks," she said, attempting to summon some Severity. "It's very rude."

"Well, then," he mused, his fingers finding her scalp. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

A sigh escaped at the feel of his deft fingers marking her with what felt like deliberate movements. "I…haven't the slightest idea."

"Is that all right?" he inquired, as he pressed a kiss at her temple.

She could find no fault with the kiss, except that it was not exactly where she wanted it to be in terms of placement.

Hatter smoothed one hand over the diaphanous sleeve of her dressing gown. "I thought perhaps that you might think I should do something better with the Time."

At the moment, Alice could think of no other better way to spend it!

"Than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers."

_Oh! The riddle. _"I like our riddle, Hatter. I amuse myself sometimes, thinking of answers that might suit."

He leaned back slightly, his hand still tangled in her hair and his eyes wide and green even in this light. "Will you call me by my name?"

"Certainly," she said, pressing her hand to his cheek. "If you tell it to me."

"Tarrant."

Alice pulled her legs underneath her, kneeling in the sheets. "It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited, _Tarrant_," she scolded him playfully.

"I didn't know it was _YOUR_ bed," he responded, his eyes narrowing. "It is large enough for a great many more than one."

Alice was feeling very much of a muchness. This was merely another impossible thing come true. She had only to seize the moment and make it what she would. "Just large enough for two," she said, tickling him first behind the ear to disarm him and then pulling him by his shoulders forward, so that they both toppled into the bed large enough for an Alice and Hatter.

A pair of 'oof's and a creaking bed frame made Alice briefly consider the wisdom of her actions.

"Are we going to wrestle?" he asked, quirking his brow as he raised himself up on his forearms, so she was not so far pressed into the mattress tick.

Although, she had not minded the pressure.

"I'm rather hoping we're going to kiss," she said matter-of-factly. She had thought about it—hundreds of times—since she left Underland, wondering what it would be like, imagining it as best she could. She would like to put an end to the daydreaming and take action.

"I'd hate to disappoint the Champion," he frowned, his ginger brows drawing together before bringing his lips down on hers with hurried fervor.

It was a great deal better than she had imagined. His lips firmly pressed to hers made her fonder of being in her body than she ever had felt before, knitted to his as it was and very much alive. She would not mind exploring his form a bit more too, so that she might see if he was just as alive. She suspected he was.

"You have too many clothes on," Alice sighed, trying unsuccessfully to slide his coat off one shoulder.

"Who's making personal remarks now?" he teased.

She laughed through her fingers, trying to keep her ebullience as quiet as possible, but Joy is noisy.

He shushed her as he sat back, peeling off his coat and pulling at his tie. His hands moved so quickly that she could barely make out their movements in the darkness. The speed could have been owing to his eagerness or it could have been due to that which made him not fully human, or rather more than human. Alice was not sure, and at the moment it did not matter much to her, for even as she considered it, his waistcoat and shirt joined the ever growing pile of tossed aside clothing.

_This is something entirely new_, she thought, as she took in the sight of his bare chest—pale, touched in sparse ginger hair, and lean. Being a curious creature, Alice was very fond of newness.

She reached out to him—the whole point of fewer clothes was exploration—and he joined her back on the bed. In the process, however, his knee nearly slipped off the edge of the bed. "Move one place," Tarrant pleaded, sounding just a little bit desperate to Alice.

Happy to oblige, she moved towards the middle of the bed with Tarrant following right behind. She took up tracing his torso as soon as he settled above her. He was warm and sinewy and firm. Another trail of hair led from his trousers, a fact she could feel as she ran her hand over the flatness of his abdomen.

Her touch made him groan and thrust against her. Alice's eyes fluttered shut at the feel of him moving against her. _Entirely new and treacherously thrilling_.

"Wake up, Alice," he whispered to her, his voice very nearly shaking.

"Tarrant, I'm not asleep." There was no doubt, because she had never felt this way, even in her dreams.

Emboldened by her evident surety, his hand made a similar perusal of the outline of her body, solidly testing the planes and gradual swells of her flesh. Having reached her hip, his hand reversed course only to settle against the side of her breast.

She could hear him swallow. "Is't a'richt?" he asked, his voice slipping into a burr that worried her.

She reached up to stroke his brow not wanting him to succumb into the crowded madness of his mind. "It's fine," she said soothingly, only to discover what it was he was seeking permission for: his hand settled over her breast.

"Oh, heavens!" she gasped much too loudly as his thumb found its mark.

"Alice," he warned her. "Ah apprise the virr, but ye'v assuired me that the hoosehaud is asleep."

"Yes," she murmured, an acknowledgement of his statement and an encouragement not to stop, as she buried her face in his shoulder to help silence herself.

This was a great deal more than she had ever imagined. She was beginning to feel very tightly strung, and she clung to him as if she might drown here in her own bed, the bed she had once dreamt him in; and yet, how could she invent a man such as this? Surely he was the work of someone much grander than herself.

She kicked at her dressing gown and the sheets that divided her from Tarrant, and he sat upright between her legs to reach down and fling aside the sheets and assist her in hiking up her dressing gown above her knees in a flurry of movement. This was a great deal worse than showing ones ankles at an engagement party. This was also a great deal better, Alice observed as his warm hand settled on the inside of her thigh.

It felt as if he was drawing something there, perhaps letters. The sensation was producing a reaction in her below that turned Alice's ears rather red, but she spoke up nonetheless, endlessly curious: "What are you drawing?"

"All manner of things—everything that begins with an 'M'."

Wickedness made Alice wish his fingers would draw just a hairsbreadth higher.

"Alice, reach for my watch," he paused, breathing deeply and speaking with evident care.

She found it a strange request at this particular moment, but he _was_ mad. Stretching out her hand in the rumpled sheets, she fingered at his discarded waistcoat until she found his pocket watch.

"What day of the month is it?" he asked, staring down at her as she opened it.

"Shouldn't it tell the o'clock?" she asked on a shuddering breath, since his fingers were still endlessly composing all manners of 'M' related things on the parchment that was her bare flesh.

"The hour is not what I'm particularly interested in at the moment," he chuckled. "Monthly matters are more pressing."

Alice felt as if she was being teased, but she could not niggle out his meaning. "Tarrant," she practically whined, nudging him with the back of one knee and tossing the watch onto the pile with his waistcoat.

"Never mind," he said, shifting to lie atop her once more, caging her with his arms. "It would be highly irregular, seeing as you are from London and I am from Underland. I've never heard of such a thing. But nothing is impossible," he frowned, unmoving against her.

"Tarrant," she said firmly once more, wishing he would stop wandering away from the subject, which she believed to be the two of them here in London, in her bedchamber, in her bed, with the sheets and her dressing gown bunched most invitingly.

"You're uncommonly impatient, Alice. Has anyone ever told you that?" His preternaturally luminous eyes twinkled with mirth. "What is the concern?" he asked, not giving her time to respond to his earlier question. "Shall I be quick about it or you'll be asleep again before it's done?"

Alice would have frowned, but his mouth closed upon her neck as his hand found her thigh once more and all thoughts of complaining trickled from her brain like sea sand from a bottle saved while on holiday.

"Quick about what?" she finally managed to question, as he laved the hollow of her throat.

"Docking," he purred, his mouth trailing hotly down her chest towards her breast, his hand finding the apex between her thighs through her dressing gown.[1]

It was slang she should not understand, but it was impossible not to, and she had no intention of being asleep for what he was suggesting. "I'm not sleepy," she protested, sliding her hands into his hair to lock him to her breast.

"Ye will be," he responded cheekily.

She gave no protest as he tugged on her gown, pulling it up to her hips, over her belly, and finally free of her arms. Instead of giving in to shyness, Alice resolved not to be the only one unrigged.[2] What was left of Tarrant's clothing included his trousers and stockings, both of which Alice wanted gone immediately. She worked at his buttons with only slightly trembling hands, but she was glad of it when he moved to assist her.

"We'll have to be quiet," Alice said unnecessarily, just so there was something being said that sounded Reasonable, for she knew she was acting most Irrationally.

His buttons undone, Tarrant slid his trousers down and off, his stockings following closely behind. Alice could not help but stare: a man's bare chest was new, but this! This was positively _groundbreaking_.

"Ah sall be as quate as a stork."[3]

The metaphor made Alice laugh nervously, and he responded by pressing an index finger over his lips in a sign of silence. It was very fortunate that Tarrant was a man who did not mind laughter—apparently even in the buff, because she could not hold it back. Perhaps storks were not supposed to be the bearers of babies in Underland, but the mention of one right before…[4]

His eyes plainly took her in, laid bare before him. It should have left her feeling ashamed, Alice mused, but it only made her heart beat faster.

"Sae bonnie," he said, lacing one of his hands in hers.

She was unsure of her beauty, but she was sure of him. More sure than she had ever been of anything.

"Will ye lie upo' me, Alice?" he asked, tugging slightly on their joined hands, so that her shoulder rose free of the bed.

With a shuddering breath, she shook her head against the pillow. "Can we be like this?" she asked, drawing him down atop her chest. Alice was immediately pleased with her notion to remove his clothes—skin upon skin was divine. _It was a wonder people wore clothing at all!_ "I don't know what I'm doing," she confessed, as she dragged her foot over the back of his leg.

Tarrant looked momentarily unfocused at her avowal, and she squeezed his hand, trying to draw him back. "Tarrant?"

He settled fully against her with a soft moan, almost sounding resigned. "Ah can shaw ye."

"Like this?" she murmured, as she felt him against her middle.

"Aye, gin ye like."

Alice could not rightly say what she liked, but she knew what felt right at the moment. "I do." She knew what she _wanted_. "I'm ready."

His hand touched her, the sensation strong and immediate, causing her to bite down on her lip.

"Sae ye are."

A moment of fumbling and angling, a push, a burn that startled her enough to make her jerk, kisses—a seemingly endless trail of them—over her cheeks, against her temple, on the tip of her nose, atop each closed eyelid, and then her name, barely a whisper. "Alice?" His burr was gone.

He was anxious she realized, as she lay motionless beneath him, trying to adjust to the invasion.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she firmly said. With experience comes pain, and this was what she wanted, with the man she wanted. "Kiss me?"

And he did. His lips pulling at her, his tongue—_heavens!_—began to make her forget the pain between her legs. They were making her feel soft and pliable, as if she might melt under his touch. She sighed into his careful, slow movements. She hesitantly moved beneath him, running her hand down his back, feeling his ropy muscles flex with each movement of his hips. It was an easy rhythm, nothing hurried or frenzied. She could feel the great care he was taking. Not quite mad, she reevaluated; no, much more gentle.

Time seemed to slow, to stretch like caramel. All she could hear was the sound of the two of them together: their breathing, the scratch of the sheets, lips meeting, bodies meeting.

"S'alright?" he muttered against her lips, looking for encouragement and reassurance.

She hummed her approval, distracted by the odd sensation of tightness that was beginning to form inside of her until all at once her world fractured and if it was not for Tarrant's sudden move to place his hand over her mouth, she would have certainly woken the household. Panting against his hand with endless sensations sweeping over her in waves, he paused with eyes screwed shut tight, and then collapsed over her with a grunt.

Breathing slowing, he murmured against her ear, "I love you."

He would not have come to her if he did not, bridging their worlds with a thimble. She had known that from the start.

It occurred to her that there was now quite a telling mess that would prompt the need for some subterfuge come morning. But she did not want to think on that now. She did not want to think about morning at all, which meant it was the only thing she _could_ think about.

Alice smoothed a wisp of sweat dampened hair from her forehead. "You won't be here when I wake, will you?"

A hand found her middle. "No, Alice," he admitted, sounding regretful.

"But it I'm not dreaming." She could not bear it if she was.

He sighed, "No."

Alice hoped very much it was not tears stinging her eyes. She hated crying. "The servants would find it newsworthy if you were here in the morning," she said, trying to sound lighthearted as she nonchalantly rubbed at her eyes. "Newsworthy even for me, and I've shocked a great many people before."

"But, I won't be here," he said, all seriousness. "The thimble won't allow me to stay long. I must away soon."

"Will my enchanted thimble limit my time in Underland as well?" she asked, rolling onto her side, so she could see his face.

"Aye," he paused, looking burdened by something, his eyes shifting from one color to the next. "Did I do wrong?"

She wanted to relieve him in whatever way she could, take the sting of regret and worry away if possible. "No. Did I?"

He shook his head emphatically in the negative.

Alice nudged his arm until she could fit herself closer to him, their bodies both cooling in the cold of the room, their skin slick with sweat. "Is there something you're not telling me?" she asked, tucking herself under his chin.

"Quite a number of things, actually."

"Could I stay with you if…would it make a difference if I loved you?" she asked.

His arms folded tightly around her. "Aye, a world of difference, my love."

She hoped very much that he was right. Trying to hold back these troublesome tears, she hiccupped against his shoulder. She did not think she could go on living without him. Or at very least she knew she did not care to learn how. "I don't think…" she began.

He shushed her softly, petting her back as soothingly as if she was a child, "Then you shouldn't talk. Sleep now, Alice. Think tomorrow. I'll sing you a lullaby to ease you to sleep."

And he did.

Note: This story is riddled with dialog snatched from Chapter VII: A Mad Tea Party from _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_. It is certainly *ahem* a reimagining. I don't know that either Alice or Tarrant are aware that they are rehashing things they have said to each other before, but the idea behind it is that something has been drawing this rather unlikely pair together since the start. The words are the same, the meaning behind them very different.

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[1] Docking – sexual intercourse (Victorian slang)

[2] Unrigged – undressed (Victorian slang)

[3] Mature white storks do not vocalize or have a call—a rarity in the bird world.

[4] The idea that storks bring babies is an ancient tradition in Northern Europe, but it was popularized by Hans Christian Andersen in _The Storks_ (1838).


	2. Chapter 2

Rating: T

Part Two:

It had only been two days, but Alice had been thinking endlessly about her night visitor. She could wait no longer. She knew him, but she wanted to set about knowing everything about him, immediately.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, having not yet gone through her morning ablutions in her eagerness to attain her desire, she pulled open the drawer and reached for the thimble she knew waited her—she had checked two dozen times, nigh on obsessively. It felt and looked like an average thimble, but it promised so much more.

What had he said? _Put it on and think on where you want to be. Couldn't be simpler._

Anticipation made her feel a tingle as she slipped the thimble onto her index finger—_a little big_, she mused—and thought of Underland.

She expected something. A shimmer, a sudden blackness, a whoosh of air, the sensation of cold or falling through the air, something to indicate that the enchantment was working. But nothing happened. She looked up from her finger and naught had changed. She was still very much in London, in her bedchamber. Not in Underland.

"I've done it wrong," she scolded herself.

Underland was a rather broad location after all and how was the enchantment to know where to deposit her if she thought in such unfocused terms?

_Easily enough fixed!_ This time she squeezed her eyes shut tight and thought of the mad tea table, a place she could recall very exactly in every little detail, which she imagined might be helpful in getting the enchantment to work.

Despite her new attempt, it felt as if she was still upon the bed, and indeed, when she cracked one eye, yet again nothing had changed.

Alice's anticipation began to feel more like panic, her pulse quickening and a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on her brow. _Think, Alice, think! There is always a solution. I simply must puzzle it out._

She would think of Tarrant, as he had thought of her.

She tried everything: thinking of Tarrant, thinking of every other creature she could conjure up from her memories of Underland, thinking of every location she could flesh out in her mind, switching the thimble to each of her fingers in turn, opening her eyes, closing her eyes, standing, sitting, and finally, crouching on the ground, fists balled and tears streaming down her face.

_Couldn't be simpler_.

Weeks passed and London seemed greyer than usual, the company more monotonous than ever. Her mother commented that her skin looked dull, her hair lifeless. Margaret thought her behavior rather better than usual—less brass, more mindful of not standing out for all the wrong reasons.

Perhaps she did not love him enough. Perhaps she was not good enough. Worthy enough.

Time passed most unpleasantly.

Until one evening, having failed to undress for bed, she sat sullenly and whispered to herself, "I've lost my mind," for it appeared that a man was sitting upon the bench at her dressing table in the corner, head hung in silence.

She was conjuring her Hatter up in her mind to fill the emptiness her inability to work the thimble had created in her chest.

"I lost mine long ago."

Alice pinched herself quickly, just to be sure of her wakefulness. "Hatter?" she asked, her voice shaking.

The figure's hatted head rose, his eyes clearly yellow even in the darkness.

"Ye didna come."

Alice stood and rushed to his side, nearly tripping over her skirts in her hurry to get to him. "Look at you! You're here!" she whispered as forcefully as she dared, as she sat on the narrow bench beside him, her skirts spilling over his thigh as she threw her arms about his shoulders. His stiff shoulders. "I tried to come," she murmured against his neck. "You must believe me that I tried."

The only response she received at first was a loan moan, as she pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. She recognized that moan, and the sound of it made something within her twist and fidget with want.

Finally, a hand wrapped around his body to rest on her bare arm. "Ye loss the thimmle."

Alice did not have to go to her drawer to fetch it, for it was always in her skirts now, tucked away in a pocket where she might touch it when she doubted that he had ever come to her at all. Slipping her hands from his neck, she fumbled with her skirts until she located the thimble and pulled it out. "It didn't work."

He took it from her and shook his head. "Ye pit it on an' thocht…"

"Of you," she finished for him. "I thought of you, I thought of Underland, of the tea table…Tarrant, I thought and thought of where I wanted to be and nothing happened, nothing came of it at all. I've been stuck here without any recourse. It's very miserable to be able to do Nothing, when I have become used to being useful, accomplishing things. Botheration, Tarrant: I tried."

"I don't understand," he lisped softly, incredulously. "The Queen took great care with them, when I requested it of her. And it is not a difficult enchantment. It is not beyond her skills to fashion such a small thing. I watched her do it, Alice. There is no reason it should not work for you."

"Yours certainly still works, proof as your presence here is. It is mine that has gone wrong, perhaps. Or me: I might be wrong. Have you considered that I might not be good enough?" All of the other creatures of Underland were so exceptionally different—even her Hatter—and she was just a muchy girl from London with odd ideas. It was well enough that she had helped saved them, but she might not be enough like them to warrant an enchanted visit now that all was safe and sound. She might not be good enough for Tarrant.

His ample brows drew together. Reaching up a trembling hand, he touched her elaborately coiffed hair, his thumb brushing against her ear, and not wanting him to stop, she pressed her cheek against his hand as eagerly as a kitten. "Not good enough? You are everything, Alice, everything to me."

"We will table that notion for the moment, then," she conceded. She was sure of his affection, certainly, but one thing did trouble her. "You might have come to me, you know. You needn't have waited for me to come to you," she said, knowing perfectly well that she sounded slightly petulant, when she was nothing but happy to see him and have him with her at long last.

His eyes swirled, changing colors before settling into a greenish yellow. "I wanted you to want me. It was slurvish male pride, Alice. But I…wanted **you** to want **me**."

"Oh, but I do," she assured him, instantly sorry that she had reproached him even in the slightest, when he looked so very regretful. Her feminine conceit was just as much at fault as his male pride, no doubt. Being apart only bred misunderstanding. "But you are here now, and I haven't even thought to ask. How are you, dear Tarrant?" she went on affectionately.

Tarrant looked round the room and nodded.

Alice could not fathom his meaning, and she pressed on, "Have you been well? Well and happy?"

He looked round once more, and this time a tear or two trickled down his cheek; but not a word would he say.

"Speak, can't you?" Alice cried.

Tarrant made a desperate effort, and swallowed as if he was gulping down a large piece of bread-and-butter. "I've been getting on very well," he said in a choking voice: "I've only felt down about eighty-seven times. A trifle, really."

"Take me back with you," she said in a hurried rush, gripping with all of her strength the bandaged hand that rested in his lap. "When you leave tonight, take me with you."

"Alice, it can't work like that."

Alice was stubborn. She did not like being told the way things were, when she felt strongly about how they **should** **be**. "Nonsense! Hold my hand and we'll think of Underland together. I'm certain we can make it work. We'll travel together."

He smiled weakly at her, before looking down at their hands, his holding her useless thimble in his palm. "Your conviction is most commendable. You have not lost your muchness, I see."

"Course I haven't," she responded leaning into him so as to feel his body against hers once more.

His hand skimmed down her back, settled on her waist and pulled her resolutely against him. A lightening flash of palpable memory brought back to her the accompanying sounds and sensations of him holding the small of her back as he moved atop her.

Sighing as he pressed a kiss to her brow, she tucked her head into the curve of his neck. "We have only to put our minds to it and we will figure it out, surely. Two heads are better than one."

"The Tweedles certainly think so."

"It **is** so," she said firmly.

Finding her pocket, he stuffed her thimble back inside, patting her skirts once it was safe. "Although their minds are very rarely in agreement."

She ran her finger over one of the buttons on Tarrant's waistcoat, toying with the idea of popping one open. "Ours are—in agreement."

"Not this time, laddie."

Alice huffed. He had been much more accommodating during his last visit, and she was determined to win him over to her way of thinking. "Have some faith," she urged him, sitting upright.

"I have all the faith in the world in you, but I must assure you that the thimble can only carry **one**." He stopped, his eyes growing large. "Oh, Alice. The thimble can only carry **one**." His voice sounded raspy and thin.

"Yes, you seem quite certain of that," she said in exasperation.

"Which must mean there are two of you."

Alice tilted her head, "You're not making any sense, dear Hatter."

His hands seized her waist, looking faintly horrified. "Have the birds and bees never given you The Talk?"

She laughed nervously, "Birds and bees don't talk here."

Tarrant's bowtie bobbed as he swallowed. "Then it's no wonder that you know nothing."

Alice could not let such a slight pass by unremarked upon, "I know a great many things."

"Maths and French and other Nonsense, no doubt," he said, his voice rising.

She shushed him, pressing a finger to his lips. "You'll be discovered here if you can't keep quiet."

He nodded and she let her finger slip.

The fleeting touch of his lips to her finger put her in mind of other things, less contentious things. He still had not kissed her. "We managed to be quiet before," she offered, hoping he would grasp her meaning.

"Which is what has gotten us in this bread and butter pickle, which is a great deal more serious than dill," he staged whispered, still holding tight to her waist. "I **knew** butter wouldn't suit the works. Crumbs from the butter knife find their way in, you know, even if you try to be **very** careful, and Thackery is not terribly adept at taking great care, and it mattered a great deal, because it was imperative that I know what was day of the month, which is to say if it was…"

Alice cupped his cheeks and drew him firmly towards her, "Tarrant."

He seemed to come back to himself. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

"Everything shall be all right. You'll see," she promised him cheerfully.

"Do you know what day of the month it was?" he asked timidly.

Alice hummed, trying to recall. "Fourteenth of March, I think it was. Or the fifteenth. Or…the sixteenth."

"Oh, dear. You really don't know, do you?" he fretted.

She really did feel sorry that this small detail was upsetting him. "It's no matter," she promised him, patting his cheeks gently.

"Alice, you are in an interesting condition."[1]

Her heart skipped and her hands fell lifeless into her lap. "That's impossible."

His eyes skittered over to her bed. "It must have been Morblesch day. It is most irregular, Alice. Of all the days for it to be and my being from Below and you Above. I did not think. Well, I did, but…I shelved that thought in favor of having you, I'm afraid."

She ignored his mad musings, being a little frantic for want of some sense at the moment. "It is **impossible** for you to know such a thing," she asserted determinedly, because if she said it as if she Believed it, surely it would be True.

"We'll never get you back to Underland by thimble travel at present." He looked at her as if he was trying to measure her reaction, waiting warily. "Two now, not one."

Her breath was coming fast now. This was an outcome that should have concerned her, but had not. All she had thought of in that moment was her and him and wanting and feeling and…love. And since then she had only thought of seeing him again. "Are you sure?" Even to her own ears she sounded not quite her age but much younger and hopelessly uncertain when she had been so Very Certain just a moment ago.

"As sure as eggs is eggs."[2]

Her mouth was as dry as cotton, when she managed to speak once more, "What will we do?"

Tarrant drew breath, "Would you like to come to Underland?" He paused, looking down at her middle and blinking. "May I invite you to join me?"

Alice licked her lips. She had wanted to go to Underland—_desperately!_—and it had been her intention to go there, it had nearly broken her when the thimble did not work. "Is there another way to get there?" she asked quietly. "A safe way?" If she was in a family way, she certainly could not fall through a rabbit hole to get to Underland.

"Certainly. Not as simple, but certainly a way where there's a will." His hands tightened about her waist. "Although, you should know something before you consider accepting."

She could not manage to respond, as her mind was reeling.

"I'm a poor man, dearest Alice," he began, in a trembling voice, "and sometimes the bread-and-butter gets so thin. What I could offer you isn't as grand as this," he said, inclining his head to indicate her bedchamber. "But, if you wish it, Alice, I'd have you join me," he spoke hurriedly. "Do you?"

Could he hear her heart thundering away in her chest, she wondered? _Oh, to not think! To not think for even a moment!_ "Tarrant. Kiss me, please."

His lips were upon her with the passion she recalled from their last meeting, although her memories, pleasant though they were, did not fully do it justice. Lacing his fingers in her coiffed hair, no doubt pulling it lose, he held her in place and bit at her lip, tugging insistently. She choked on an urgent cry that began in the recesses of her tightened chest and rushed out as his tongue swept over hers. Her hands found his torso and pressed against the warmth she could feel beneath the layers. His lips sliding against hers, his tongue inside of her mouth as he had once been inside of her…

_I'm carrying his child._

In just a matter of minutes she had gone from complete disbelief to almost feeling as if she could sense something there where there had been only her before. The prospect of being with child was terrifying and thrilling. And if she had some time to become accustomed to the thought, it might be a greater share thrilling than terrifying. At the moment, however, the greater part of her was feeling very much as she had on the eve of Frabjous day.

Breaking their kiss, he ran shaking hands over her shoulders and down her arms to clasp her hands in his.

"I'll need time to think about this."

"Dae ye hate me, laddie?"

She could feel him tremble. _Brave enough to wield a sword on my behalf, but fearful of my scorn._ "Quite the opposite," she murmured.

The tremor turned into a shudder. One of relief, she hoped.

Pulling himself together, Tarrant cleared his throat and spoke with great care, "May I say something?"

_Gracious, yes!_ She needed some words—words of encouragement, kindness, something, for she was feeling more than a little upended. "I should very much like to hear what it is you would say."

"Alice I am…overcome."

"Happy?" she asked, since he looked as if he was holding something back, which was not wholly disagreeable.

"Hopeful you'll let me…you'll allow me…"

Alice bumped his knees with their clasped hands, "Yes?"

"Ye dinna need taken care o' but Ah will tak care o' the bairn gin ye allou me."[3] He squeezed her hands. "Thegither. Here or in Underland."

A selfless offer if ever she had heard one, knowing how it would be if he stayed here with her. "Oh, but you wouldn't like it here."

He frowned. "I like you very well and you're from here."

"And I don't quite fit, Tarrant. Look, this is unexpected, and I need to think, but the simple part is that I wanted to be with you. I **want** to be with you in Underland. The two of us together." _Never mind that it might very well be three._

Releasing her hands, Tarrant turned on the bench to stare forward, frustration etching his features. "I can't take you with me now, Alice. I'm sorry."

As she rested her hand on his thigh, she hummed her recognition of the disagreeable fact. "But you'll send for me." Perhaps Nivens would come to collect her as he had done in the past.

"Oh, no, Alice. I'll come for you myself." Low and rough, his tone conveyed a depth of feeling that words could not. "I'll not leave it to anyone else."

She loved Tarrant. Why should she not have room in her heart for his child, for the two of them both?

Nevertheless, she would worry and fret tomorrow. Tonight still belonged to them.

Alice stood and extended her hand to him. He exhaled noisily, gazing for a moment at her proffered hand until frustration melted away and he placed his stained hand in hers. She hauled him upright and began walking him backwards toward her bed. "But you don't have to go yet."

"No, not yet," he agreed.

She paused before the bed, turning to put her back to him. "Unbutton me?"

She often sent her lady's maid away, preferring to do for herself if she could, but this was something she wanted most fervently.

First a hand came to rest on her hip, and then another traced the slope of her neck, hovering at the first button at the back of her dress. The brush of his torso against her back alerted her to his shifting intentions: he momentarily abandoned undressing her, and the hand at her hip slid to her front, stopping at her middle. It was not the first time she was glad not to be wearing a corset, but the warmth of his hand against her was a novel reason to rejoice in the lack.

And before his meaningfully placed hand could begin to inspire terror in her at what awaited her, _them_, he stepped back and applied himself to the unbuttoning of her dress with a couturier's care. Instead of anxious concern, she smiled down at the floor, thinking of the pleasure that awaited them here in her bed, and spared a thought for the guarded happiness she felt almost certain her Tarrant entertained at the thought that she was…

Her eyes closed in contemplation, while he continued to unveil her skin to the cooling night air. _**Truly**__, why should there not be room?_ "Tarrant."

"Yes, love."

"I'll have you know something," she said, as her bodice came free and she slipped her arms free of it.

He had already begun to work at her hair, deftly removing the pins that held it in place when he whispered his reply, "Yes, Alice."

"There is room enough for two."

Note: This second half has bits of dialog from Chapter XI: Who Stole the Tarts? in _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ and Chapter VII: The Lion and the Unicorn in _Through the Looking Glass_, which are both chapters in which Alice and Hatter (or Hatta) appear.

* * *

[1] In an interesting condition – Victorian euphemism for pregnant

[2] 'Sure as eggs is eggs' is a colloquialism that might come from the mathematical equation x = x.

[3] Gin – if (Sc)


End file.
